


A little Impetuous

by solar_celeste



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Near Death, Snow, Whump, blizzard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-23 22:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19160005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solar_celeste/pseuds/solar_celeste
Summary: There’s a fight, because these things always start in a fight. Why did this one have to end in the snow?Damian makes a rash decision and gets caught, unprepared and alone, in one of Gotham cities greatest snow storms.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaylaK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaylaK/gifts).



The Himalayas were  _ nothing  _ compared to this. There, he had been prepared, layers upon layers of winter gear and heavy clothing helping to keep him warm against the mountains’ biting winds. Here, a foot deep in Gotham’s own white powder, he was reluctant to admit that he had been caught completely off guard. 

 

An encounter with Clayface two days earlier had left him with a sprained ankle and a benching from his father.  _ You need to think before you act, Damian!  _ The man had said, Damian had only scoffed in response, he had only been  _ helping. _

 

That’s what he told himself he was doing now, helping. There was a case that he and father had been working on before his grounding, one that he was determined to finish. The man himself had put this file on the back burner, too busy dealing with other things that the man had apparently deemed far more important. Things that were neither Damian, nor the case they had shared.

 

His plan had been simple enough, wait until father went to sleep after returning from patrol, remain in his room until it was late enough for even  _ Pennyworth  _ to retire, and then make his way out. 

 

He had gathered everything that he would need previously, his suit, his gear, etc. Entering the cave at this time of night, especially when he was not supposed to, wasn’t an option. There were too many alarms there, ones that were more difficult to bypass and hack than the civilian ones guarding the perimeter of the manor. After all, it’s not like this would be the first time he had slipped past  _ those  _ embarrassments. 

 

He got out easily, tumbling into the chilled grass and sprinting into the woods nearby. He had a vehicle waiting at another location, here, it would have been idiotic to risk a get away as noisy as that. 

 

The air was cold, and chilling for a November night.  _ Much colder than it had been the other night.  _ Damian recalls, when they had been fighting Clayface, he had nearly been sweating. He shrugs it off, focusing on the task at hand, it was probably just been because his adrenalin was up.

 

The case isn’t too far, and he parked his bike in the woods about two miles out, just to be extra cautious. A two mile run was nothing, and imagine Father’s face when Damian comes home to with the evidence needed to close the case-

 

There was a flury, white and small in front of his eye. It confused Damian, causes him to fumble in his running and take a second look. Is it ash from a nearby fire? A catch if moonlight on a small bug? Perhaps even… a figment of his imagination. But as he looks, closer this time, there is another, and another. And another.

 

_ Snow, _ he concludes.

 

He knows Gotham is cold, and that northern America experiences unreasonable amounts of snow each year, but wasn’t November a little early? The other night had been  _ warm _ , or at least warmer than this night. He shakes his head, pushes on. His mother had taught him that he needs to be prepared for anything, that his weaknesses can never get in the way of his obligations. Any less is unacceptable, and entirely his fault. Returning back to the manor for his warmer gear would hinder his plans and require him to enter the cave, it was too risky. He pushed forth. 

 

Three-quarters of a mile from the location of his awaiting bike the snow picked up. Previously, the flurries had been steady, but slow. Only just enough to give the ground a thin dusting, small flakes that melted soon after landing on Damian’s shoulders. Now, it seemed to come down in buckets, falling on him as if the heavens had opened up and were attempting to bury him in an act of karma.

 

The thick chunks of frozen water were piling on and sticking to his gear, sinking into and through the material. He fought a shiver,  _ half a mile _ , it will be easy. 

 

Or it  _ should  _ have been easy, if Damian wasn’t all of four-foot seven and already nearly knee deep. His feet dragged in the snow, his wet and now heavy cape trailing along in the snow. With one hand he held his hood over his head, with the other he attempted to shield his eyes from the spray. He had long since strapped his light source to his belt, a small glowing orb of LED that was dimming as it was slowly covered. 

 

The rational part of himself was begging to go back, to return to the manor and cuddle by the fire with Titus and a fresh pair of pajamas. It told him that removing his coms and tracking device was imprudent and rash, asking why he was continuing even though he  _ knew  _ the chances of someone his size catching hypothermia in weather such as this. But that would be weakness, that would be defeat, even the mere  _ thought _ of returning, of  _ retreating _ was unacceptable and disgraceful. 

 

He bit his tongue to stop his teeth from chattering.

 

The bike was in his line of sight now, his numbing fingers itching to start the vehicle even from where he was, fifty feet away. His toes stung in his boots and now that he thought about it he knew he should have brought his winter uniform, it was easier to shed material when overheating than not to have enough and become numb from the cold. The case should not involve any combat but in the case that it did, he was slightly worried that his inability to fully feel his limbs might hinder his abilities. He should probably call father now. 

 

He didn’t want to,  _ really _ did not want to, Damian knew Father was going to be  _ furious _ but he tried to tell him whatever punishment the man had in mind was nowhere near as bad as losing a limb to the snow.  _ No _ , he attempted to reason _ , Father will just be glad you are safe. _ Hopefully. Probably. Wouldn’t he? 

 

He went to reach for his communicator, to commit the crime before he changed his mind, but it was gone. He had taken it off, not wanting his Father to use the tracker that he had incorporated into the device.  _ Imbecile _ , he reprimanded. Everything that he had done tonight had been idiotic and had only worsened his situation. His punishment was going to be extended (or worsened), the case wasn’t going to be completed, he would only be proven,  _ again, _ to Father that Damian was nothing but a liability.

 

He stopped pushing, the snow was up to his thighs now and he thought it unlogical how fast the substance was accumulating. He had no tracker, now way to return home, it not like the bike would drive in snow this deep anyhow. He had long since lost all feeling to the cold and noticed suddenly that he had stopped shivering.  _ Not _ good. He would probably die of hypothermia, buried by snow. No one knew where he was, there was a chance no one even knew he was gone. No one was coming. And as he sunk down into the snow, he wondered briefly, that even if they knew, would they come then?

 

There was a deep rumbling and he was covered by a comforting blanket of black before he could answer himself. 

 

***

 

Bruce was frantic. Titus had come running into his room twenty minutes earlier, running distraught circles around the bed. Bruce had startled, a little peeved about being woken from his sleep in such a way. But his anger was quickly replaced by concern. Titus was a good dog, one who didn’t bark for no reason. Faster than he could process his movements, Bruce was out of bed and down the hall to Damian’s room. Hundreds of possible scenarios playing in his head, a nightmare, a sudden sickness, an attempted kidnapping? 

 

Needless to say, when he practically fell into the room to find the beginnings of snow fluttering through the open window and the bed perfectly made, his face hardened. There was a discarded com on the desk and a crushed tracker to its right.  _ When will Damian learn? _ Bruce asked himself, already on his way to the cave, Titus on his heels. 

 

He hurried himself into his own suit, sliding on his thicker cape and pulling on the cowl. He checked the time: 0338. He hoped the others would still be out. 

 

“Robin’s missing.” He reported into his communicator. “I need assistance in a search around the manor, he removes his com and trackers and I believe he’s still in his summer uniform.” He waited a moment, coaxing Titus back upstairs as he did.

 

“The little bird escaped the nest again?” Came Jason’s voice, Bruce visibly relaxed. “You really should think about upping your security.”

 

“Can you take north, Hood?” Batman asked, strapping on his utility belt.

 

“Already on my way.” Jason replied.

 

Two minutes later found Bruce in the Batmobile and Alfred at the main computer.

 

“What happened, B?” Comes Dick’s worried voice.

 

“Robins gone, he ran off without his com or tracker.” 

 

“Did you two fight?” Dick asks, worry lining his tone. He doesn’t mean it accusingly, he’s only concerned but Bruce can’t help the ache the innocent question brings to his chest.

 

“No.” He says, voice flat. “At least, I thought we were fine.” He amends. “I benched him two nights ago because of a sprained ankle.”

 

“His ankles sprained?” 

 

“Yes, it should be mostly healed by now.” A pause. “But he’s in his summer gear.” 

 

“Bruce! There’s like, three feet of snow outside!” Dick sounded panicked, the rushing of wind and quick breathed coming through his line. Bruce didn’t even have the heart to correct him about the use of names.

 

“Shit, the squirts not much taller.” Jason adds. “I’m north, three miles out. Do you know how far the kid got?” He asks.

 

“No farther than that. Titus woke me about twenty minutes ago.” 

 

“As soon as we find the brat, I’m giving that dog a big ol’ steak.” Said Jason. 

 

“I’m taking south.” Said Dick, as he started an off trail vehicle.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Haven, Wing?” Jason asked Dick.

 

“Probably crashing with Barbara.” Came Tims voice. Bruce perked up.

 

“Red Robin, can you assist?” He asked, sounding more hopeful than he would have liked to admit.

 

“I’m about five minutes out, I’ll take west.” He replies. Bruce nods, even though they can’t see him. He makes eye contact with Alfred as he starts the Batmobile.

 

“I’m on east then.” 

 

***

 

It’s a surreal feeling, seeing his Grandparents for the first time. They look different than what he thought they would, younger. His grandmother has chestnut brown locks, pulled back into an elegant clip. She has a string of pearls around her neck, a few of which are missing. She has father’s eyes. Or, Damian supposes, Father has hers. 

 

His grandfather looks like a mirror image of his father. The man's eyes are blue as well, if a bit more grey, and peer down at Damian with the same fondness as his wife.

 

“Damian Wayne, aren’t you beautiful.” The woman says, getting down on her knees to be more eye level with him. She is taller than Damian expected. The boy himself does not know how respond, does not know if he can. 

 

“Just like your father, at that age.” His grandfather adds. Damian hides his blush beneath his shock. 

 

“I never did like that uniform.” Martha begins. “It has a tragic history, and it’s so dangerous.” She sighs, placing a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Isn’t it enough that  _ two _ of my grandsons were killed in this suit?” She asks, seemingly to no one in particular. “What more will it take for him to stop?” 

 

“He’s doing it selflessly, Martha.” Says the older man, coming to stand closer to his wife. “For Gotham and it’s people.” 

 

“But this poor boy, so small-“ She begins again. Damian bites back a retort, he is  _ not _ small. He’s  _ growing _ .

 

“You know Damian wouldn’t stop, given the choice.” He adds. “And you  _ know _ Bruce gives him that choice.” 

 

“I know, darling.” She sighs, looking back at Damian. 

 

“Where’s Father?” Damian blurts, muscles tensing under her stare, even though it is a kind one.

 

“Oh, child.” She says, eyes full of sincerity and emotion. “You are-“ She begins herself, but seems to think better of it, and restarts. “Do you feel cold? Or pain?” Damian thinks. No, he doesn’t feel cold, he only feels homesick. He shakes his head.

 

“That’s not good, Martha.” Thomas Wayne cuts in, now coming to kneel besides Damian’s grandmother.

 

“How long?” She asks.

 

“Not much longer.” Thomas answers.

 

“Not much longer until  _ what _ ?” Damian demands. 

 

“Damian, you made a very poor decision going out in alone tonight.” His grandfather says. Dami  bristles, the man sounds so much like Father. Damian wishes it were Father… 

 

“You got very cold.” His grandmother adds, her voice is much softer, much more gentle. She talks to him as you would a child, his grandfather does not. “Your body's shutting down, that’s why your here.” 

 

“I-i’m dying?” He realizes suddenly, throat constricting as his eyes begin to burn. This cannot be happening, not again not a  _ second  _ time, not when he has only just gotten back! His eyes begin grow moist, he’s numbly aware of his lip beginning to tremble. 

 

“Oh dear child, don’t cry.” Coaxes his grandmother. She reaches to caress his cheek, and for a moment he pulls away. He is not some small child who needs coddling, he needs to be  _ alive _ , he needs to breath again, to see the sun and the stars. He needs to feel his heart beat in his chest. 

 

But she touch is so like Fathers, gentle and with a sole purpose. To comfort, to love. Damian takes a moment, chokes down his pride and the sob in his throat and  _ lunges _ at the women in front of him. 

 

“Where’s my father?!” He screams into her shoulder. He trembling, shaking like Pennyworth’s flowers when Titus has just trampled through them. 

 

“Shhh.” His grandmother hums in his ear, his grandfather places a hand on Damian’s small shoulder. 

 

“I want Father!” He continues, but their comfort quiets him. “I want my dad.” He pleads.

 

***

 

The fifteen minutes it take for the cold to crackle back to like feels like the equivalent of a hundred years. It’s Dick who comes in first, voice thick with unsuppressed tears.

 

“B.” He says, and Bruce immediately comes to attention. “I found his bike.” Bruce stills. Dick found Damian’s bike but… not the boy himself? 

 

“I’m coming to your location, wing. Search the snow around that area.” Says Jason, snapping Bruce out of whatever haze he had fallen into. 

 

“I’m on my way, boys. Two minutes out.” 

 

Bruce races through the snow, foot pressed hard onto the gas in his best attempt to make seven minutes his promised two. He arrives in barely over one. 

 

Tom comes just after, quickly taking to searching his own section of snow. 

 

Bruce is digging like a dog. Fast and furious on his hands and knees, scraping up snow into his gloved fingers and throwing it quickly behind him. He’s frantic, Damian’s  _ small _ for eleven, he could easily be hidden beneath the snow and no one would know until it melts. And worst of all, the last conversation they had, had made his son believe he was made at him. Bruce has just been terrier the boys rash decisions were going to land him hurt.

 

Look how far  _ that _ has gotten them.

 

He almost misses the way his fingers catch in his digging, as he faintly feels the familiar drag of fabric on fabric. He sees red, then green, and then the black and yellow of his sons beloved cape. 

 

“Boys!” He yells, all other searches pausing as his sons look to him. “I-I found him.” Bruce says, hauling Damian’s small, chilled form to his lap. He hastily removed a glove and feels for a pulse, he’s met with a weak and lazy thump. “I found him.” He breaths.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the last chapter! Thank you to everyone for the amazing feedback on the last one, y’all are the reason there was a second.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this one just as much :)
> 
> (the word count was just a funny coincidence lol)

His grandmothers face is happy when Damian leaves, yet, there’s a sad twinkle in her eyes. She doesn’t want Damian to go, he can tell, he thinks she must be lonely. His grandfather has not stopped looking at him the entire time he has been with them. His attention is full, it is as if the man is studying Damian, trying to memorize every inch of his being before the boys departure. 

 

The boy himself does not know why their expressions suddenly changed from empathetic to a sort of relief, not at first anyway. Then there is a tingling. It’s not warm, but not too cold either, slightly painful but not overly so where he cries out. Damian doesn’t understand, hadn’t they just told him that he was dead? That this was the afterlife? He was sure people couldn’t be resurrected  _ twice.  _

 

Suddenly, the quiet is placed with a dull ringing and frantic voices sputtering conversation around him. There’s the soft hum of equipment, the chill of a draft. The air is slightly damp. It doesn’t take long for Damian to piece together that he is in the cave. 

 

His limbs sting- no, burn. Likely both. They are numb with cold and the warm sheets that swaddle him  _ hurt _ , he’s hypothermic. He shifts a little, movement going undetected through the noise. There’s something in his wrist, an IV of warmed fluid, he thinks. 

 

He’s had hypothermia before, he knew most of the methods used to treat it, but even so he does not believe he passed out when he was previously trapped. Neither does he remember feeling this way, not hot or cold, just burning, stinging. The blankets were much too stiff. 

 

He wanted his father. He had wanted his father since he had been benched two days prior.

 

Damian groaned, titling his head back and trying to roll over and sit up all at the same time. It didn’t work very well.

 

“Woah, there!” Todd says from where he’s standing by the bed. He puts a giant hand on each of Damians much smaller shoulders, steadying him. “Kids awake.” He says. Damian straightens, using the hand that doesn’t have the IV to rub the sleep from his eyes. His fingers are still numb, tingly like the rest of him and hard to maneuver. 

 

“F-father.” Damian croaks, looking frantically around the space for the man. If he has to wait a moment longer he thinks he might-

 

“Shit.” Jason swears, moving to stand. “Bruce! Someone get Bruce down here!” He shouts, coming closer to the bed to kneel and card a hand through Damian’s hair. The younger boy wants to pull away, to tell Todd off for belittling him but the warmth of the body heat is too much not to lean into. Todd’s frown deepens. 

 

“There’s no need to cry, Dames. They’re coming.” Jason assures. Damian didn’t realize he was crying. But now that the older boy mentioned something, yes, he could feel cold drops sliding down his cheeks. It made since with how much his chest was aching and his body hurting. Todd’s attempts at pacifying the boy don’t help much. Damian doesn't want the others to be coming, he wants Father to already  _ be  _ there. He wants Bruce to have been the one waiting by Damian’s bedside, not some older brother who was undoubtedly placed there by Pennyworth. 

 

Footsteps thunder loudly on the steps by the caves entrance. Damian turns his head quickly, barely registering the pain that it brings, to see his father barreling down the staircase. The mans hair is disheveled, his shirt crooked and one of his pant legs tucked into his sock. He looks just about as tired as Damian feels. 

 

The man doesn’t say anything, just comes over quickly. He fumbles to catch his sons flailing body but he would have rushed even if Damian hadn’t flung himself out of the bed, desperate and touch starved. He regretted ever stepping away. 

 

“My apologies Master Damian.” Alfred interrupts. “I forced your father to step out and change into dry clothes himself, less he catch a cold.” Damian remains silent, his face pressed into his fathers large shoulder as he swallows his sobs. The heat from the older man is all comforting, healing Damian’s stinging skin like holy water. 

 

Damian wants to scream, wants to cry and throw a tantrum like the children he sees in the park when Grayson forces him to ‘play’. He wants to throw a temper tantrum, wants to stop his feet and throw himself on the floor until he is given a second chance. But he doesn’t- can’t, rather. That would be childish and unacceptable. Weakness, no matter how much he wanted to let everything out, was punishable and not fit for someone of his status. He swallowed again, blinking and trying to turn his head so his running nose did not stain his father's crooked shirt. He saw that despite his best efforts, some had rubbed onto the material anyway. He stilled, breath hitching in his throat at the sight. But instead of… whatever it was that Damian had been expecting, the man only increased his coddling.

 

“Its okay, your okay.” His father soothed, shocking Damian when he began to gently bounce the boy. “Everything’s okay now.” 

 

Damian wondered if it really was.

 

***

 

Over the next week, despite his internal wishes, Damian avoided his father like the man had the plague. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Father, it was just that he  _ couldn’t _ . There was no way to face him after his last display and honestly, Damian was a little apprehensive to.

 

Nearly every night since his scare, he curled up in a shivering ball on the couch, leaning into the heat of the fire place as he wrapped himself if a wool (but vegetarian) blanket. There was something like a phantom chill that lingered in his bones, no amount of warm tea or nudges (cuddles) from Titus could cure them. He may or may not have tried. 

 

The fear of his punishment for his latest actions was only intensifying his fear of returning to his grandparents. The couple were nice, and Damian was secretly happy he had finally been able to meet them, but the way in which he had meet them terrified him. 

 

He had almost  _ died. Again. _

 

It wasn’t the same hell that he had visited before, far from it, but it was death. It was away from the manor and his family, from his pets and his home. It was a barren wasteland with no animals or trees or movie and game nights. There were no art materials, no things to draw. He couldn’t be Robin there, and because of that, he could not be with his father. 

 

He had not been Robin, not truly, since the fight with Clayface. His ankle had long since mended, he was a quick healer, but Damian believed Father doubted his current mental abilities in a fight. He assumed that the man was aware of his late night escapades to the fire the monstrous mugs of tea he consumed before returning back to bed. His nightmares. The steaming showers he took every morning to rid himself of his fear induced sweat. Afterall, it wasn’t as thought he was trying to hide any of it.

 

“You should talk to him.” Dick had said to him, Damain was sitting with him in the park, sketching a nearby Labrador. 

 

“I don’t follow, Richard.” Damian was trying to deflect, even though he was aware that wouldn’t work with Grayson. The man saw right through him.

 

“You can’t keep it all inside, Dami.” Dick sighed. “Your gonna explode.” 

 

Damian scowled, setting down his sketchpad and pencil to turn to the nuisance next to him.

 

“I’m not  _ you, _ Grayson.” He spat. “I do not  _ talk _ about  _ feelings. _ ”

 

“You should, though. You both need to.” Damian didn't responded. He didn’t know what to say, it's not like Grayson was  _ wrong. _ He returned to his work, a sudden shiver causing his pencil to slide. Dick shimmied out of his coat, wrapping it over Damian’s own.

 

“Com’on, let's head home before you catch a cold.” Dick said, standing and offering his hand.

 

“Tt. I don’t get sick.” Damian retorted.

 

“Fine, before  _ I  _ catch a cold, then.” Dick amended and Damian agreed, taking Dick’s hand.

 

***

 

Damian may claim that he doesn’t get ill, but there is no denying his nightmares. They’re border line night terrors, near impossible to wake from. He’s nearly thankful he’s had so much practice at staying silent. 

 

They’re always the same, or very similar. Sometimes it's the typical Heretic dream, lately he’s been buried. Mountains and heaps of wet and extremely heavy snow piling on top of him as he the scene slowly dims. For a moment, it will be silent. Then the screams started. They’re familiar voices, ones that he would recognize anywhere. As the light brightens once again, he sees he is right. The bodies of his family laying a heap, his own hands bloody, his clothes speckled in crimson. His grandparents stand proudly before him.

 

“We told you.” They would laugh. “We told you!”

 

Then the scene would dim again, and when it lightened, he was in the same hell as he had been before. The Heretic would sit on the ground next to him. “This is the place for people like us.” He would say, his voice with a menacing growl. 

 

That was always when Damian would gasp awake, drenched, and fumbling for the light switch.

 

***

 

“I think we need to talk, son.” Father says one day, after corning Damian in the library. The boy looks up from his book.

 

“About what, Father?” He asks, feigning innocence. This is the conversation that he’s been wanting to avoid for the last week, the reason that he had devoted so much of his time to assure he avoided the man.

 

“Why did you go out the other night?” 

 

“There was a case to finish.” Damian said, closing his book. 

 

“Is that what this is about?” Father asks, his brow is furrowed in thought. 

 

“Yes, it was minor but that does not matter! Every case is important father, one cannot be left unsolved.” 

 

“I know Damian.” Bruce sighs.

 

“Then why-“

 

“The case wasn’t unsolved.”

 

“Don’t- wait, what?” Damian’s eyes are comically wide, his mouth slightly open at the harshness of this new information. 

 

“I solved that case after the fight with Clayface.” Father admits. Damian is silent. Father finished the case… without Damian? He had thought that had been  _ their  _ case. They were supposed to finish it  _ together.  _

 

“Why?” Damian asks, voice soft. If Bruce listens close enough he thinks he can hear the slightest of quivers. 

 

“It was a simple case and I had just finally got you to sleep, I wasn’t going to wake you for that.” Fathers trying to reason, trying to tell Damian how it was more logical for the man to finish the case on his own. Damian doesn’t hear that, to him, it’s only father’s way of telling Damian that he was a  _ liability _ . That it was easier to work without Damian. 

 

Damian swallowed thickly,  _ oh God, Grayson was going to be so proud.  _

 

_ “ _ I’m sorry.” He says. Father reels, looking at Damian with a mix of shock and confusion.

 

“For what?” The man asks.

 

“For hindering you in your work, for slowing your progress.” The boy swallows again. “For being a burden.” Father blanches.

 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me.” 

 

“I haven’t been avoid-“

 

“I’m not as ignorant as you think, son.” 

 

“I was being cowardly, I apologize.” Damian finally looks up. “I am ready to receive my punishment now.” 

 

“Punishment?” Bruce asks, eyebrows raising. 

 

“My actions were far from permissible.” Damian adds. 

 

“Well, yes. You know I don’t like it when you sneak out.” 

 

“Oh….” Damian looks up at his father with his brow furrowed in confusion. “I meant after. I should not have been blubbering on your shoulder like an infant. It was a moment of momentary weakness, it will not happen again.” He assured, face trying to show determination, eve through his apprehensive eyes. 

 

“I would  _ never  _ punish you for crying Damian.” Bruce assures the boy, reaching out to put his mit of a hand on the boys knee. He seems to think about what he is going to say next. “Did you mother ever…” The rest is left unsaid. 

 

“Yes.” Damian whispers. His lip is trembling again, eyes moistening. He knows now that it’s terrible. His time with Father in Gotham has taught him that’s _ not _ how parents are supposed to treat they’re children but Damian also knows he is not the normal child. Maybe there was something about him that just  _ made  _ people treat him as they had

 

The tears are spilling over before he can stop them and he fights from stiffening. Father had just told him it was  _ okay.  _ So it was, he could cry, right? 

 

“Let it out, son.” Bruce says. It’s all Damian needs to tear down the flood gates, to let everything that he’s held in though the last many, many years, out. His time at mothers, being left to his father, his father’s sudden absence, his death, everything. There's a relief that floods over him, the building weight off his shoulders lifting.

 

Father home him in his lap while Damian sons. He’s never felt so small and helpless, so childlike before. He doesn’t think he minds it. 

  
There’s something about the unique comfort being in Father’s arms has. Sitting there, wrapped up and finally letting everything he had bottled up go. Grayson had been right, Damian had exploded. It was okay, though. Because he was finally warm, the phantom chill was  _ gone _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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